


We Simply Must be Friends

by revolutionaryfury



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Women, F/M, Friendship, Gavroche is a little brat, Gen, Gift Exchange, Miserable Holidays, Urchins - Freeform, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryfury/pseuds/revolutionaryfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the women of the series are just plain awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Simply Must be Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplyirenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyirenic/gifts).



The four young women and one small boy sat in the small café, chatting and laughing. The first girl was a beautiful young thing of fifteen with pale skin and lovely chestnut hair. Her countenance was sweet and content, her cheeks rosy and her teeth white. The second young woman was sixteen years old, her tangled hair bracken-like in feel and color. Her mouth was downturned, but she was laughing in a raspy voice. The third was the youngest girl in the group, at fourteen. She had curly red-brown ringlets that were so matted they may as well have been stuck together with sap. She was quieter than the rest of them, even the rosy fifteen-year-old, and had the air of a dog about to be struck: nervous yet trying to please. The final woman in at the table was a busty redhead who acted about as ladylike as the fidgety, annoyed young boy next to her. She laughed loudly, with her head thrown back so that her hair flowed behind her. She was a bit imposing, but kind and motherly at the age of twenty.

 

“Oh, I just cannot _believe_ we’ve never gotten together!” the redhead gushed. “You are all so delightful!”

 

The timid one, Azelma, risked a tiny, fleeting smile. “Thank you, ma’am,” she all but whispered. “And thank you once again for your offer to take my sister and me in.”

 

“Yeh!” Azelma’s sister interjected with her mouth full. “Our dear papa is a bastard!” Her name was Eponine. She clenched a fist and brought it down on the little table, rattling the dishes. Azelma and Cosette flinched.

 

The redhead roared with laughter. “Such words from a lady’s mouth!” she cackled. “Oh, Eponine, I do so enjoy your company.” She turned to the unhappy twelve-year-old next to her. “And what about you, little Gavroche?” she asked with a wink. “Are you having fun?”  
Gavroche shrugged.

 

“I’d rather be runnin’ the streets wif’ me boys,” he grumbled.

 

Eponine cuffed her little brother from across the table. “Manners, ‘Vroche!” she snapped. “Ma’amzelle is takin’ us out fer a nice meal here, and you’d better act grateful, you little urchin!”

 

Cosette gave a dainty smile. “Now, now,” she intoned softly. “Let’s not fight. Let’s enjoy our food.” She nibbled at the crust of bread in front of her, as Gavroche attacked his vegetables.

 

 _Well at least the brat’s eatin’ healthy_ , Eponine thought resignedly, sipping her wine. What an odd occurrence that had brought the five people together. And it had happened a bit like this:

 

_The redheaded woman stalked through the streets, a scowl on her beautiful face. She paid no heed to those around her, crashing into people more than once, not apologizing as a proper lady should. One of those people happened to be a gamin nearing her late teens, scrawny with eyes that darted around nervously. Her clothing appeared shredded, and she looked like she had been attacked by a dog, lacerations across her face and legs. The girl’s haggard appearance was enough to shock the redheaded woman into apologizing. “Oh, pardon me,” she said, eyeing the poor urchin. “How rude of me. I must not have been looking where I was going. Well, darling, I apologize.”_

_The gamin looked staggered. “Th-thank yuh, ma’am,” she stammered._

_“Darling, why are you thanking me?” the redhead laughed, putting a friendly arm around the girl. She noticed the disgusted looks she was receiving from the passersby and made a rude gesture, harrumphing. She tightened her arm around the young gamin and led her over to a little public square where the two sat on a bench._

_“W-well, yuh actually apologized fer bumpin’ into me,” the gamin said nervously. “Yuh didn’t have to do that.”_

_“Of course I did!” the redhead said with a laugh spilling out of her mouth. “Any sensible person apologizes for bumping into another person.” She smoothed down her skirts, grinning as she noticed the gamin’s enrapt expression. “You like my skirts?” she asked._

_The gamin broke off her stare, her cheeks burning. “Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled. “Sorry fer starin’, then. You’ve been too kind. If ya don’t mind ma’am, I think I’ll be takin’ my leave. I’ve overstayed my welcome.” The girl abruptly sat up and scrambled away as if she’d been burnt on a hot tea kettle. She brushed dirt off of her ratty blouse and turned on her heel._

_“_ _Wait just a moment, darling!” the redheaded woman called, grabbing the little gamin’s arm. “You needn’t be embarrassed for admiring a piece of clothing. It’s a thing that all young women do. It’s natural. Why be ashamed?”_

 

 

_“It…it ain’t mine to admire,” the urchin stammered. “If I admire your lovely clothing, I’ll get envious. And that just makes me sad.” She shrugged. “When I see what I don’t have, I get upset. I think of my sister and my brat brother.”_

 

_"Tell me, darling, what do you call yourself?” the older woman asked kindly. She unwrapped her fingers from the girl’s arm, patting the space next to her with an amiable hand. It was tricky to ask these sorts of question to these sorts of people; they wouldn’t just give their real names out. Monikers and little joke names were more common. The young girl looked down at her skittishly before sitting down as far away as the small bench would allow._

 

 

_“Why’d ya wanna know somethin’ like that?” the gamin asked suspiciously._

_“If I’m to talk to you, I don’t believe I can go on referring to you as Girl,” the redhead chuckled. Off of the girl’s look, she gave a reassuring smile. “I mean you no harm, darling. You intrigue me, is all. Now, do tell me what you call yourself.”_   


 

_"I’m called Eponine,” the girl answered after a few long moments. “That’s my name.” She gave a tiny smile. “Ugly, ain’t it?”_

_“_ _Why no!” the redhead cried. “Not in the least! It’s a name befitting an empress, darling. Eponine. Hmm, Eponine. How dear. And you may call me Red, on account of this wild mane of mine.” She grinned. “That’s what my love calls me, anyhow. I think it suits me more than my real name. My real name is dreadful, positively dowdy, I tell you.”_

 

_“Nice to make yer acquaintance, Red,” Eponine said with a small smile. “Yer hair is quite lovely.”_

_“Why thank you,” Red said, graciously accepting the compliment. “Now, if we’re to be friends, you must tell me a bit about yourself.” She knew that Eponine would open up now. After all, she had gotten a name out of the scared gamin._

_“Well…what’d ya wanna know? My life ain’t too interestin’ to hear about. S’more of a sob story, really.” Eponine gave a shrug. “But…friends. I don’t have no friends.” She shook her head bitterly. “You don’t wanna any friend of mine.”_

_“I do,” Red said seriously. “I promise you I do. Here, to ‘break the ice,’ as they say, I’ll tell you a bit about myself first. Let’s see…where to start? Well, my name is Red. You know that. I’ve turned twenty this past February, so only a few months. February is a dreadful month to be born in, isn’t it?” she asked with a smile. “All cold and dismal and boring. Ah, well, though. One cannot choose one’s birth date. What else? Ooh, here’s a tidbit: my most current love is a brawler named Victor Bahorel.” She grinned coyly. “He’s a very handsome one, actually.”_

 

_Eponine smiled softly in response. “Is…'e, uh, good to you?” she asked in an unsure tone._

 

 _It was clear the girl didn't know how to make decent conversation._ Poor thing _, Red thought, then_ _frowned. “Well…one could say. He’s quite good when it comes to matter of love.” She gave Eponine a saucy wink. “But…his personality is like a bear. Brooding and jealous and_ loud _. And we’ve been in a fight recently – something about his dislike of my constant laughter.” She sniffed daintily. “He can be quite the pompous ass.”_

_Eponine gasped. Words like this out of a lady’s mouth! Not a lady of the streets – Eponine was used to hearing the vilest words out of their mouths – but a rich young bourgeoisie girl! “Ma’am,” she breathed._

_Red let out a booming laugh that emanated from deep within her, and Eponine filled with warmth. “Pardon my language, darling. I’ve picked up quite a few crude words from Bahorel. Speaking of the idiot, I do believe I’ve forgiven him. Talking to you is quite fun. Anyhow, now tell me about yourself.”_

_Eponine felt utterly at ease. “I’m Eponine,” she started. “I’m sixteen, eldest 'a my siblings. Little ‘Zelma’s fourteen and Gav is twelve. He lives in an elephant statue and ‘Zelma and I live with Papa and Maman.” She may have been at ease, but she wasn’t about to disclose the details of, say, her father’s affiliation with the Parton-Minette._

_“Are your siblings nice?” Red asked._

_“Eh,” Eponine shrugged. “They’re a’right. ‘Zelma’s right timid and don’t talk too much. She gets real sick a lot. Gav is a brat. I gotta provide fer them, understand, so I’m always runnin’ about fer them. Papa and Maman ain’t so bright in that regard.”_

_“Are your parents neglectful?” Red asked gently. “That’s the picture I’ve begun to paint in my mind. Pardon if it’s wrong.”_

_Eponine’s feeling of ease melted away. She squirmed. “Well…yeh. ‘Bout as neglectful as parents of gamins can be, though, y’know?” She didn’t want to talk about the subject any more._

_Red smiled and took Eponine’s hands in her own. “Then you must come with me.”_

 

XXX

 

And as different as each of the women – and little boy – were, they would each live their lives to the fullest.


End file.
